


Broken Dreams So Grand

by DesertSkald



Series: A Dream of Dragons [8]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (it's mostly in the Rift), Angst, Blades, Canon-Typical Violence, Champion of Cyrodiil's descendants, Competent Blades, Dragons are terrifying, Dragons being evil, F/M, Fleshed out Civil War (kinda), Focuses mostly on the Civil War in the Rift and the Blades fighting dragons, Found Family, Humor, I mean the Civil War parts can share cause they're important but it's Fallon's book, Imperial Legion (Elder Scrolls), Lots and lots (and lots) of talking, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Skyrim Civil War, Snark, Stormcloaks, Thalmor, Thalmor being evil, Thalmor dragonborn, This is basically Fallon's book, War, War is a rusty knife twisting in your innards, oh and the love triangle - did I mention the love triangle? XD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:49:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertSkald/pseuds/DesertSkald
Summary: Skyrim is being torn apart, by the war between the Stormcloak rebels and the Imperial Legion, and now by the dragons brought back to life. In the absence of the Dragonborn's guidance, the Blades set out to at least rid Skyrim of its dragon problem. In the Rift, Tyraun Ice-Hammer and his daughter Brenda walk the razor's edge between serving Riften (and the Stormcloaks) and fighting for the Empire they swore oaths to protect.In all the madness, without Irowe and Amuril to guide him, Fallon has to find his own way and decide which broken dreams are worth saving.Fallon's tale (the tale of the Blades) and continuation fromPortents of Fire and Magic





	Broken Dreams So Grand

> _Though there were certainly strong individuals who sought their own fortunes in the past, many historians have suggested that Dinieras-Ves was the ancestor in spirit of the modern phenomenon of the Adventurer, those men and women who dedicate their lives to questing for fame and fortune._
> 
> _\-- History of the Fighter's Guild_

* * *

  
FROSTFRUIT INN was quiet for an early Morndas morning in First Seed. The inn had been built for a small family, but Mralki and his son Erik only used one room. The others Mralki rented out to their neighbors or travelers, and the main room was open to all. It brought extra coin in, even if they couldn’t always provide hospitality to rival the inns of Solitude or Whiterun. It brought a little of the outside world in to Rorikstead, but ‘a little’ wasn’t enough for Erik.

  
Erik bit his lip and crept down the stairs, trying to keep his full weight off the creakier parts of the basement’s upper steps. He tiptoed down, covering the candle’s flame with his palm, looking back up the steps once he was on the earthen floor. It was silent upstairs.

  
Erik grinned and hurried over to a blocky, unassuming grey wooden trunk underneath the beet shelf. He set the candle down on the floor and stretched his arms out until they stung, reaching around both sides of the heavy wooden trunk. He lifted it up just a little, bringing it out from under the shelf.

  
Erik pulled a rag from his belt and dusted it off. His smile perked up as he dug dirt and old mud out from the grooves of the Legion’s Red Diamond emblem. Mralki was just saying last night how they didn’t have the money to buy Erik a set of armor to start a life of adventuring. But Erik was willing to bet his father’s Legion armor from the war would fit him well enough-

  
“Erik.”

  
Erik’s hands shot out and he fell over onto his back, knocking over the candle. He scrambled to his feet and stared wide-eyed at the stairs as Mralki stomped down them. Mralki held out his own candle and looked at Erik, then the grey chest at his son’s feet. Mralki ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes.

  
“I thought you knew better than to go through my things. Leave it alone.”

  
“I just wanted to try it on, Pa. Honest. I was thinking- I thought I might have filled out enough to wear it.”

  
He stood and shuffled away from the chest as his father shooed him with a hand. Erik’s shoulders drooped as he watched his father boot the trunk back under the shelf and into the shadows. He’d been asking his father for five years when he could leave the farm, leave Rorikstead, but Mralki always had some excuse why Erik had to stay.

  
“If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a hundred times: it’s locked for a reason. I’ve put those days behind me, Erik. I don’t want you getting _ideas_ into your head.” Mralki laid his hand on Erik’s shoulder, shaking him gently. “The world’s dangerous. It’s not like it is in your stories, and it’s no place for a boy like you.”

  
“Pa, I’ll be _twenty_ next month,” Erik insisted. Twenty was old enough to start a family, so it had to be old enough to start a life outside Rorikstead. “You’ve been saying that since I was a boy, I think I’m old enough to decide how to live my life, and I’m strong enough to take care of myself out there.”

  
He put his hands on his hips, a vain attempt to posture the lean muscles on his arms so they looked larger, more intimidating. Mralki sighed and patted his shoulder. Not intimidating enough.

  
“Maybe you are. But I’m your father, and it’s a father’s job to keep his children safe.”

  
“I’d be a lot safer out there with armor. Especially armor that you _know_ works, so you’re not up at night worrying.”

  
“Erik. That armor’s old, it hasn’t been kept up. It might not even fit you.”

  
Erik walked back over to the shelf and pulled the trunk half-out into the candlelight. “Well open the chest and let’s find out. I would- I would repair it if it’s broken, Pa, or find someone who could.” Erik held his hands out, trying not to beg. “I’m strong enough, I could handle it.”

  
He tried to search his father’s eyes for whatever the real reason was for not wanting him to leave, but Mralki looked away, staring down at the chest. His father’s eyes faded from hazel to grey, and he couldn’t look away.

  
Erik let his hands drift back to his side and bent down to pick up his candle. Pa got like that sometimes, thinking about the war. All Mralki would ever say was it was terrible - Oblivion on Tamriel - and that everyone he knew died in the fighting. And why it was so important that they were both safe in Rorikstead, far away from any of that. Erik silently relit his candle with his father’s, both their faces fallen back into the never-merry slump everyone in Rorikstead seemed to have.

  
“Nevermind, Pa.” Erik said, squeezing his father’s shoulder. “It probably doesn’t fit me anyway.”

  
He lingered a moment longer, to see if Mralki would answer, but the cellar was silent. Erik nodded and walked to the steps.

  
“Maybe you are strong enough.”

  
Setting his foot down sent a chill up his leg and back like the first step was made of enchanted ice. Erik bit his lip and turned around, trying to not be hasty and to hide the excitement prickling in his blood. Mralki was still looking down at the chest.

  
“But strength alone isn’t going to keep you alive...”

  
Erik’s face fell. Pa was just talking to himself: he did that sometimes, when he got all quiet like that. Erik should have known better.

  
Mralki sighed and turned, nudging the trunk with his boot. “I tell you what: if you can show me you’re clever enough to get this chest open before we bring the Last Seed wheat in, you can have what’s in it.”

  
Erik’s head whipped back around so fast his braid slapped him on the nose. “ _Really?_ ”

  
“Really.” Mralki muttered.

  
Erik inhaled, trying to keep his breath steady but he was shaking too much. Mralki had always said no before, always had some excuse. Erik ran a hand through his hair. Maybe Pa finally realized Erik was getting too old to not have a life of his own, maybe he was finally coming around.

  
“You’re not going to- to empty it when I’m not looking, right?” Erik asked, holding a hand out. He didn’t think his father would do that - he wasn’t Lemkil - but - well he’d never changed his mind about this before.

  
“No. I’ll give Rorik the key if you’re going to fuss about it.”

  
A smile and a laugh broke through before Erik could cut them off. “Very well, I accept your challenge, Pa. -But when I win I get to start a new life, out there, no backtalk from you.”

  
“ _If_ you win,” Mralki muttered. “Now go on, do your chores. I’ll give the key to Rorik.”

  
Mralki turned and steadied a hand on the shelves, pushing the trunk back under with a boot. He grunted in surprise when Erik came up behind him and hugged him.

  
“Thanks, Pa,” Erik murmured into his shoulder. Mralki sighed and reached back, patting Erik on the head.

  
Erik ran up the stairs and set his candle down on a table, grabbing his scarf and outer cloak from the hook. The winter wheat’s harvest wasn’t that far away, but the thought of that _open_ trunk was so close he could almost taste it. He tossed the scarf around his head and slipped out the door, grabbing a rake and skipping to the stables.

  
He couldn’t use the key: that wasn’t ‘clever’. Erik twirled the rake and frowned. _I could pickpocket it from Rorik.._. The frown deepened into a scowl. His father wasn’t going to approve of him running off and becoming a sneak-thief. No, something clever...

  
“No, don’t _eat it_ , you stupid-”

  
Erik peered around the corner of the stable door. A bay dun stood in the main walkway, and a stranger in a matching beige-brown fur cloak was standing next to it. Erik glanced down, seeing the horse’s tack half buried in the straw. Pa did ask travelers to manage their own horses, but there were pegs on the wall for their things. He did wonder why they hadn’t bothered to come in to the house, but maybe they’d come in only a few hours ago.

  
The stranger fussed with the bridle-less horse, which kept pulling its head away from a strap of leather looped between the stranger’s hands. They tossed the leather strap around the back of the horse’s head despite its protests and tightened it. A long feed bag slipped up over the horse’s mouth and it froze, flicked its ears, then stopped complaining and dug in. The stranger chided the horse in a low voice as they fastened the straps against the horse’s head, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  
Erik frowned, looking from the feed bag to the guest stall, realizing where their newest ‘guest’ had gotten the bag from. The traveling merchant asleep in the house - Octavius something or other - was not going to be pleased when he woke up. Erik grimaced and set the rake over his shoulder. The stranger wasn’t very tall: probably just a rude kid who needed a little reminder on how manners worked.

  
“Hello!” He announced as loudly as possible, walking in like he hadn’t broken stride on his way from the inn. “If you want to stable your horse, that’s thirty gold.”

  
The kid would have jumped into their horse’s arms, if horses had arms. Their horse snorted at them and wheeled away to finish her breakfast. Erik stopped in front of the kid, raising an eyebrow and drumming his fingers on the rake’s shaft, watching them spin and stare at him with wide green eyes.

  
“I- I’m- I wasn’t- I’m not-”

  
The horse turned, bumping her rider with her flank and knocking him off his feet for two paces. Erik tossed the rake into the straw to catch him, but the kid caught himself. His hood flipped back and he jerked around, glaring at the horse. He stiffened and threw his cloak’s hood back over his head, but Erik saw what he was trying to hide.

  
Elf ears. A Wood Elf. Probably not a kid then.

  
Erik tensed to reach for the rake - Wood Elves especially tended to be sneak thieves, Pa always said you couldn’t trust them - but a glint of cream on the elf’s back eased that tension. Moonstone. An Elven bow-case.

  
“Oh it’s you.” The elf froze and stared at him, his fingers by his ears to adjust the lip of his hood. Erik looked around. “Where’s your friends?”

  
“What friends?”

  
“Your... friends. The two elves you’re always with.” Erik slowed, playing it cautious.

  
Pa didn’t like the Wood Elf’s friends, what with them being Thalmor, but of all the Thalmor that stayed through Rorikstead, those two were... the most polite. Really, the Thalmor only stayed at the house when Pa couldn’t refuse them, the weather was bad, and they couldn’t travel further to ‘civilized lodgings’. He blinked, trying to remember the Wood Elf’s name. He only saw him once every few months or so among all their other visitors, and it was such an odd name, for an elf.

  
“It’s Fjolin, right?”  
  
The elf blinked several times. “Fallon. How did you know it was me?”

  
“Not many Elven bows in these parts,” Erik pointed to the bow-case on Fallon’s back, “and you’re the only red-headed elf I know who has one.”

  
Fallon looked back and touched the case, glanced at Erik, then stared at the floor, his hand slowly falling to his side. Erik looked around. Fallon always had the two High Elves with him - Erik got the impression he was like their apprentice or aide or something - but the only new horse was the bay dun. Erik frowned. They rarely stopped in Rorikstead, but they’d never gone alone before.

  
Erik leaned over and picked up the rake, heading back to Octavius’s horse stall. Fallon hadn’t moved, staring off out of the stables to the south and biting his lip. He liked the elf even if he was too shy to say as much, but he drew the line at giving him free food. He would have to pay for the horse’s fare, as well as the joy of another stall to look forward to mucking out tomorrow morning.

  
He paused to wipe his brow and looked back out at Fallon. The elf hadn’t moved.

  
“Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

  
“-I’m fine.”

  
“Yeah, you don’t look it.” Erik muttered.

  
Fallon looked back, his hand wrapped around his left arm and rubbing it through the shirt. He reached his hand up to his neck, then scurried over to the straw where his tack was laying. Fallon shook out the horse’s blanket and threw it over her back, smoothing it out.

  
“I shouldn’t talk about it. You can’t tell anyone. You didn’t see me. I-”

  
Fallon stopped and stepped back as the horse tried to amble off deeper into the stable. His hand reached for the strap holding the feed bag then stopped. He reached for his purse instead.

  
“I’m sorry. I’ll pay for what the horse took.” He held out two decims and a few septims. “Please don’t tell anyone I’m here. I’m leaving. I shouldn’t be here, I just- I’m leaving.”

  
Erik set the rake down and wiped his hands off before taking the gold. -But he reached out and held the elf’s wrist - gently - before he could pull away.

  
“If you’ll wait a minute before riding off, I’ll get you some food for the road.”

  
Fallon blinked. “I couldn’t-”

  
A gurgle from his stomach cut off whatever protest he was trying to make. Fallon drew his hand back and tucked it against his middle like that would help muffle it, his face growing redder than his hair. Erik chuckled, feeling his face gain a little color to match. He cleared his throat and patted Fallon on the shoulder.

  
“I’ll be right back.”

  
Erik jogged back to the house, wiping his feet on the grass outside, and snuck across the hall down into the larder. He’d noticed the elf at first years ago because he was always so grateful for whatever food was plated for him. He’d worried it was because he wasn’t getting enough to eat, especially after Pa went on about how terrible the Thalmor were, but on later visits Fallon admitted it was more relief at not having to cook for once.

  
He’d made a point of giving the elf nicer food after that. He’d even tried putting the little fancy leaves like in the Gourmet’s book until he learned Fallon didn’t eat plants. When he’d asked why Wood Elves didn’t eat plants, Pa got surly and told him to ‘stop making cow eyes at the customers and go do your chores’. Erik had obliged, with Mralki’s request and Fallon’s unspoken one, although there was only so much Erik could do to make meat dishes nicer. Meat was expensive.

  
Erik looked around the larder, scanning the shelves for travel-sized items Pa wouldn’t notice missing. A sausage link; a rabbit’s hind; some jerky. Erik folded those into a cloth and pulled out a bottle of juniper mead, wincing as the ceramic clinked against the other bottles. That was probably enough. He climbed back out of the larder and headed straight for the door.

  
Mralki cleared his throat. Erik turned, but didn’t stop walking. Mralki tilted his head and looked down at the mead bottle and cloth, then up to Erik. Erik skipped over to the firepit and picked up a loaf of bread, like he’d forgotten to grab one earlier.

  
“Just thought I’d have breakfast outside, Pa. You know?” Erik took a bite of the bread. “Fresh air and all that,” he mumbled.

  
“Mmm.” Mralki raised an eyebrow, “like the smell of horse shit?”

  
“I’ve had a cold, can’t smell a thing.” He waved, “bye Pa!”

  
Erik hurried out the door and shut it with a boot, running around the house back for the stable. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. When he got back to the stable, Fallon had gotten the horse’s gear back on, and Erik spied the feed bag hanging on its hook by Octavius’ mare. Erik held out the cloth and the bottle, tucking the loaf under his elbow. Fallon’s dislike of plants included bread, he’d learned that long enough ago he actually remembered it nowadays.

  
“Thank you. I’m sorry. Here.” Fallon slipped the bottle into a pack and dug into his purse again.

  
Erik held up his hand. “Hey, you’re worth it. No need to pay for the food.” Fallon paused, his hand still held out with the coin. Erik took his hand and curled Fallon’s fingers over the coins. “I hope whatever it is, it works out.”

  
They stood there, Fallon staying quiet for whatever reason he wouldn’t talk about. Erik wondering how else he could help, and trying not to show how giddy he felt about holding the elf’s hand.

  
“... Thank you.”

  
Erik patted Fallon on the shoulder, picking up the rake again and heading back into the shadows of the stables. Fallon returned the coins to his purse and mounted the horse, fussing with his hood. The clop of hooves on the stable’s packed dirt stopped as the bay dun walked out onto the tundra.

  
He’d heard Wood Elves had a way with animals, but seeing the two of them fly off as one into the bluffs after how stubborn the mare had been in the barn made him believe it. Erik rested his chin on the rake’s handle and stared out at the tundra and the dawn. Wondered what it’d be like to have a life like that and just... get on a horse and ride under the open sky wherever the road and his fancy took him. Erik’s lip curled up, daydreaming of heading off to slay a marauding giant or to save some fair damsel from one of the redoubts nearby.

  
He shook his head and went back to laying out fresh straw for the horses. Someday...

* * *

  
Fallon nibbled on his last jerky as he walked beside the horse, Irowe’s leg grazing his shoulder. He shivered and huddled closer to her. Amuril had sent him out into the wilds with a map and his wedding ring to find her, but he still couldn’t believe he wasn’t dreaming. A few hours ago he was - well not _lost_ , just turned around. And now he was back with Irowe again, and it only took her a few moments of staring at Amuril’s map to know where they were going.

  
A gap of stars and the aurora signaled a break in the canyon. Irowe let out a small moan and twisted her hand, guiding the horse to the right of the fork and across the river. Fallon followed, looking up and down the canyon’s road. He’d passed Old Hroldan earlier that evening: a village that was ages ago a town large enough to have an inn, now little more than the inn itself. Still, Markarth wasn’t that far down the road, and Forsworn could be hiding behind any rock large enough to hide their antler headdresses. He didn’t see anyone on the road, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

  
The horse plodded along, hooves sounding slowly against the stones, until they reached the far side of the river. The clip of the mare’s shoes were muffled a few steps after by mud at first, then the swish of tall grass that had overtaken the road centuries ago. Fallon bit his lip and started stepping higher, pulling his feet up to step over the solid clumps of grass that always tripped him on the tundra. Irowe hadn’t slowed down, but she hadn’t made any noise either since turning the horse. She was probably in pain again, but she didn’t want any potions. She hadn’t said what happened exactly, just that she picked a fight with the black dragon at the Throat of the World.

  
The river forked and followed them down the side canyon, most of it coursing behind and to their left, but a strong current cut through the rocks and mud on their right. They carried on, the horse plodding through the long grass, and Fallon stepping over it. The river curved, cutting closer to the left wall of the canyon they were on, but the grass helped keep the water at bay.

  
Irowe groaned again wordlessly, guiding the horse off to the left. Fallon looked at her, then the canyon wall, his eyes widening in the dark. There was a small ledge, covered with gravel and stones, but... He squinted and peered up the canyon’s wall. It was either well-hidden or rarely used, but it was a path. Fallon skipped up the slope until he was standing a little ways behind her on the narrow ledge.

  
After a few turns, scaling what he now realized was a mountain, the gravel became dirt and then dirt-covered stones; dirt-covered stone stairs. Fallon stopped and stared at them in the moonlight for a moment. He was not an expert on anything, unlike Amuril, but he didn’t think the stones looked Nordic. He wasn’t sure what they were. The stairs led up into a great flat area, half carved, half built-onto a small plateau. There were braziers and wooden benches scattered around the landing, but this looked to be the end of the stairs, and there was no sign anyone had been here recently.

  
The horse nickered, but Irowe tugged on the reins and guided it toward the rockface.

  
“Irowe? Where are you going?”

  
“In.”

  
Fallon ran after her. She was tired, injured. It was late. She must not have realized she was going to walk right into that wall-

  
The horse’s head and shoulders clipped into the stone. Fallon slid to a stop and stared, blinking as he heard the horse’s snorts echo from the other side of the rockface. The horse’s steps faded - sand or fine dirt, it sounded like - and Fallon walked up to the rock. He couldn’t see anything different about it... He shook his head and trusted Irowe, stepping through the rock and to the other side.

  
He turned around once he was in, taken aback that the cave’s mouth stretched beyond the landing outside. The entire rockface he’d seen was an illusion. Fallon blinked and picked at his ear, then turned to catch up with Irowe. Maybe she’d seen through it because she was good with Illusion magic, or maybe because she was Dragonborn. It didn’t matter either way.

  
The thrum of a magelight being cast echoed across the cave, dousing the rock in white light. Irowe grumbled noises through grit teeth but said nothing else. In the corners every twenty paces or so there were stone braziers: dead, and they looked like they hadn’t been lit in months. The winding cave opened up onto a living area, with wooden platforms and leather crescent huts crowding all but thin footpaths. There were ancient stairs and pillars buried under the mud-and-thatch covered wood platforms, with the latter jutting out from the former.

  
Fallon stopped and stared at the mud-and-thatch hovels, with their bone decorations and swirl-painted hides, an itch burning in the back of his mind. He looked up at the vines and moss covering the walls, the itch growing stronger. His mouth opened, his tongue trying to name the memory.

  
It wasn’t really one memory, or at least it didn’t feel like it: more like multiple memories blurred together. But he remembered a cave with homes in it, almost as warm as it was happy. And vines, but the light in that cave was warm, green and gold, where the light in this cave was stark and white from Irowe’s magelight.

  
Remembering Irowe shifted his thoughts toward why they were here, and what he was doing here, as much as he tried to stay rooted in place. The whispers of Bosmeris around him faded, leaving the silence and the clip of Irowe’s horse on the stone stairs clanging in his ears. Fallon blinked and walked away, his fingers trembling more at the dread of remembering more. He didn’t have Atheas here with him, and Irowe wasn’t well enough to put up with him if his mind wandered where it usually did when trying to remember Valenwood. Fallon swallowed and gripped his left arm, rubbing the forearm to ward off other, more recent painful memories.

  
Up ahead was another cavern, this one narrow and opened to the sky, a tiny canyon in the middle of the mountain. Another set of stairs led up to nothing, the same as the landing outside had shown passersby nothing. Irowe held the horse steady at the top of the stairs, glaring down back and forth between three carved pillars opposite the stairs. There were symbols on each one, but none of them looked like they could be moved. They were the only things at the top of the stairs however, and Irowe acted like they led somewhere.

  
“Oh, Oblivion with this...” She gritted her teeth and backed the horse away from the edge. “ _Bex!_ ”

  
The Shout echoed across the open cavern and to the night air outside over the horse’s startled scream. The pillars beside them whirled around, slamming into the same position, facing the heart-shaped triangle toward the stairs. Fallon ran forward and grabbed the horse’s reins, running his hands over her shoulders to try and help calm her.

  
The cavern rumbled as a long rectangle piece of the far wall came loose, but it was oiled well enough to only kick up a little dust as it tapped the stones in front of them. Irowe growled under her breath, looking down at the bridge in front of the horse and up at the three others to her right. Fallon patted the horse, and sighed. Irowe had Shouted around this horse before, but it was going to be a while before the mare got used to the scare.

  
“I don’t think they’re home.” Irowe grumbled, prodding the horse with her boot until it started crossing the bridge. Fallon followed after her. “We’ll need to be careful. This place has more traps than a paranoid dead Nord’s tomb...”

  
Fallon kept quiet, his thoughts wandering back to the ruined Nordic city. The undead dragon. The ghost dead-Nords. The trolls. The dead-Nord with its death-mask, holding him in the air by his forearm and _crushing_ -

  
His arm ached and he rubbed it, following Irowe over the bridge as she recast her magelight. His arm was better, even if he didn’t understand why the snow-lights from Winterhold healed his arm when a few days before they’d tried to eat him. If they even were the same magical lights from the Eye. Fallon rubbed his arm and shivered, looking up to the moons and the starry sky before the cavern rock blocked them again. Amuril would know, but he was dropping the staff off at the College so they could stop Ancano. He would be here as soon as he was done, he’d promised.

  
They carried on through the natural passages, winding back and forth and over the bridges as they crisscrossed the canyon, climbing higher and further away from the stairs. The mountain was eerily quiet, only a few night birds sounding calls and the wind whistling above.

  
When they crossed the last bridge over the canyon the passages wound a bit further, then opened onto a room large enough for a longhouse, dark save for Irowe’s magelight. Irowe pulled the horse to a stop, turning the mare sideways until she blocked the entryway.

  
“Get on the horse. It’s easier.”

  
Fallon blinked, peering out at the room through the horse’s legs. _Easier than..._?

  
He knew better than to argue with her, especially when she’d found the entrance and solved how to get the bridges down. Fallon bit his lip and put his foot in the empty stirrup, holding on to the horn and the cantle and trying not to jostle Irowe too much as he climbed into the saddle. Irowe grumbled, but he reasoned there was no way to get on the horse without affecting her. Still, she was stiff and probably still sick to her stomach. Fallon grimaced and gingerly wrapped his arms around Irowe’s middle, trying not to press too tightly around the grey robes she was wearing.

  
“ _Feim!_ ”

  
Cold washed over Fallon and he shut his eyes, his skin prickling as the horse panicked and leapt forward into the room. Irowe held the reins loose, goading her heels into the horse’s sides and guiding it into the heart of the room. Fallon opened his eyes and shook his head, blinking. He, and Irowe - and the horse - were all blue. And he could see the tiled floor _through_ Irowe and the horse. Fallon swallowed and shut his eyes again, resting his forehead against Irowe’s back. He really shouldn’t try to make sense of any of Irowe’s Dragon Shouts...

  
It wasn’t until they had crossed the room and gone two turns down another passage on the far end that the Shout faded. Fallon kept his head resting on Irowe’s back and focused on breathing. If Irowe wasn’t asking him to get off, they’d honestly travel faster with him on it.

  
They rode up more stairs, and more passages, and Fallon fought to keep his eyes open. The passages let out into a large, almost circular cavern open to the night sky. Irowe didn’t stop, heading to the far end and up more stairs. This passage wasn’t natural though. It still curved naturally, but whoever had built the stairs carved the walls straight up into the darkness, adding murals and pillars as far as he could see. Fallon leaned back in the saddle, staring up at the ceiling high above as Irowe’s magelight cast stark shadows on ancient grim faces, strange motifs and patterns he hadn’t seen anywhere in Skyrim.

  
“ _Bex!_ ”

  
A loud boom echoed down the stairs and the mountain trembled, dust shaking down from the ceiling he couldn’t see. The magelight winked out, and Irowe didn’t bother recasting it. Fallon shrank forward against her in the saddle as he felt the walls around them disappear in the dark. Irowe recast the magelight and bathed both of them and their surroundings in light. They were in an enormous cavern, with a wide wall blocking them ahead while the stairs branched off to the left and the right.

  
Irowe turned the horse left, tossing a firebolt at a brazier and igniting the wood inside, tinging the white light orange and yellow. They passed more braziers and Irowe lit them, leaving a trail of fire behind them illuminating the cavern. They crested the stairs and trotted up another few short steps, the whole of the cavern hall making Fallon’s mouth hang open. Outside the wide circle of Irowe’s magelight and the pools of moonlight under holes in the ceiling, the hall lay shrouded in darkness. The castle in Solitude wasn’t this big.

  
“Of course they’re not home.” Irowe muttered. “Why would they be home? That would actually be _useful_...”

  
She flicked the reins and walked the horse up to a long table, sidling up to it and sizing up how to get down. Fallon took the hint and slipped off, standing up on the tabletop and helping Irowe pull herself out of the saddle. The horse tossed its head and wandered off to explore the great hall itself. Irowe huffed and stepped down to the table’s bench, hesitating before stepping down to the floor. Fallon sat down on the table’s top, looking around at the hall with wide eyes.

  
“Welcome to Sky Haven.” Irowe said, waving her hand limply in the air.

  
He closed his mouth, realizing it was hanging open. The gloom in the ceiling clung to the grey walls and pillars, tinging them indigo far more than the braziers made them red. There were carvings of warriors, reliefs of ancient battles on every flat surface, and even the floor tiles were patterned. Fallon planted a hand behind him and half-turned around, looking behind him. A horrifying familiar figure was carved into the largest wall behind him. Fallon froze and stared, his throat forgetting how to swallow. The dragon was little more than a roaring head and outstretched wings, wreathed in flames and magic. But the head was the largest part of the mural, and the wings almost stretched to the adjacent wall and the stairs on the opposite end.

  
Irowe sighed and stepped gingerly around the bench. She sat down and rested her head on her arms, muffling a hiccup.

  
“Do you think you could figure out where the bedrooms are here?” She groaned. “I don’t think my stomach could handle walking around-”

  
“Of course!”

  
Fallon jumped down to the floor, mentally berating himself. Irowe was injured, she didn’t need to be wandering around trying to find a place to sleep: that was his job. He ran over to the last brazier and took a torch down from a sconce. There were a set of stairs running along the left wall, further up into the mountain, and Fallon started his search there.

  
Fallon lit the braziers as he climbed the stairs, but paused when he came to one on the right of the wall. No firewood. He backtracked to the left wall, finding one with half-burnt wood and charcoal. Fallon lit it and continued up the stairs, looking for more braziers that had been used recently.

  
Two braziers with fresh firewood stood outside a double door. Fallon opened it cautiously and peered inside, his ears perking up. Beds, and lots of them. Fallon grinned and lit the braziers, heading deeper into the room until he found a fireplace twice as tall as he was, with stacks of cut wood nearby. He threw a few into the firepit and lit them, heading back down to Irowe.

  
A place this big had to have a stable of some sorts, somewhere. Once Irowe was settled he’d find it and put the horse up for the night. He should probably find some way to lock the front door too, in case anyone besides Amuril’s friends made it all the way up here. He doubted it, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep knowing the only thing keeping him and Irowe safe was a long walk and a mountain’s worth of stairs.

  
Now they just had to wait for Amuril’s friends to return home, and for Amuril of course. Fallon held a hand out to the wall and hurried down it. Irowe wouldn’t be able to really relax until Amuril was back from dropping off the staff at the College. A twinge shot up his left arm and Fallon snapped his hand around it, trying to rub the memory of that dead Nord with the mask away. Things would be back to normal once Amuril came back.

**Author's Note:**

> I read the part with Erik to my sister and she screamed 'I SHIP IT' when they were holding hands so uh.. Operation Get Fallon A Boyfriend is a success? lol


End file.
